Anne Palumbo: Go west, young man ... and take your mom with you

Thursday

My son landed a job in Montana, I have a friend in Montana, so we are hitting the road. Do you think it means anything that he asked if I’d be bringing my credit card?

Hallelujah! I am finally getting to take the trip I’ve been dying to take since graduation from college.

I am driving cross-country!

Granted, it will not be with the wild and crazy roommates who asked me to join them decades ago, but who cares, right? I think my 22-year-old son and I can still have some fun.

That’s right, I’m going with my son. He landed a job in Montana, I have a friend in Montana — voila! — we are hitting the highway. Just the two of us.

Do you think it means anything that he asked if I’d be bringing my credit card? Whatever, I am happy to go. Mostly. My body is a little worried. It’s no longer in mint condition. That’s not to say I can’t rev my engines if motivated. I most certainly can. It’s just that it needs more pit stops and tune-ups these days. Plus, it has a tendency to idle for hours on end, especially if there’s a shop nearby.

Do you think it’s odd that he wanted me to stock up on potato chips for the trip? Chips? We’ll be retaining water from here to Timbuktu!

Whatever, I’m on board. I’m really looking forward to the time together. To be honest, I have not spent 30 straight hours with him since birth, and that’s the amount of time we’ll be together in the car. Thirty hours. Wow, 30. Huh. That’s a serious chunk o’ time.

But what’s up with me signing something that says I won’t sing? I love to sing in the car. “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer; take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall!” I can’t believe he wants to curtail that kind of talent.

Whatever, I’m flexible. I’ll wail away when he’s filling the tank. I just want to spend time together and bond. Although it may be a tad tricky bonding through iPod headphones, I’m sure I’ll find a way. There’s always Etch A Sketch.

Can you believe, though, that he has no interest in seeing the World’s Largest Twine Ball in Minnesota? Honestly, I’m stunned. He loved making rubber-band balls as a kid; I was sure this was a slam-dunk. But no, he doesn’t want to drive the few miles it would take to ogle the ball.

Whatever, I’ll survive. I’d rather talk anyway. I’m his mother, after all, and there’s still stuff I need to cover. I mentioned this to him the other day — all the many, many, many things I can’t wait to discuss.

He looked at me funny and then asked the strangest question of all. He wondered if I had any sleeping pills. Weird! Who can carry on a meaningful conversation when they’re knocked out? Oh.